


you're making everything feel right

by groundopenwide



Category: Union J (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1837891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s still not bitter. He’s flattered, and thankful, and humbled, never bitter, not even when they’re in Dublin singing 'Carry You' for the umpteenth time (and all he can think is, <b>George’s songs would have been so much better</b>).</i>
</p><p>They’re never going to have the same kind of international success as bands like One Direction or The Wanted, but that’s fine, so long as Josh has George.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're making everything feel right

**Author's Note:**

> this was born thanks to way too much time spent lamenting over the fact that i'm never going to be able to legally purchase a union j song in america. sigh.
> 
> i did my best to use factual information for dates and stuff about the label, but let's be real, i don't actually know anything. sorry if information is incorrect.
> 
> i am not british, and this has not been britpicked, nor has it been beta'ed. title is taken from _tonight (we live forever)._

It isn’t really a surprise when RCA informs them that none of their songs have made the cut.

And Josh gets it, he does. They’re a boy band, the cross-product of a reality television show and crowds of young screaming girls, and it doesn’t matter that Jaymi is gay or that George actually knows how to play an instrument or that JJ is practically the same age as the oldest (now technically _retired_ ) Jonas Brother. They’re still a boy band, and boy bands are meant to move through synchronized choreography and record bubblegum pop music that has no real significance whatsoever. That’s just the way it is.

It’s what Josh wanted, isn’t it? Back when they were still _Triple J_ andnot quite a quartet, posting their half-arsed covers on the internet and crossing their fingers for views. They were an aspiring boy band then, and nothing has changed, except for the fact that their names are now on a contract and his number of twitter followers has spiked into the hundreds of thousands. It’s all a bit surreal, but at the same time almost underwhelming, and Josh hates himself for feeling that way. He hates that he sometimes wishes he’d been able to accept the invitation to join The Wanted ( _because then he’d be a little more famous,_ his mind whispers). He hates that he’s constantly questioning their future as a band. He’s not ungrateful. He’s just...a bit let down.

This is it.

They’re never going to have groups of American fans waiting for hours outside their concert venue because they’re never going to _have_ a concert venue in America. They’ll never have a track on the charts outside of the UK because their music won’t even be released overseas. And apparently, they won’t be able to share their own songwriting with the fans they _do_ have because none of their songs will make it onto an album.

But it’s fine. It’s still more than Josh could have ever imagined: a band and a record deal and a music video and actual fans that have their own title— _J-cats._ There may not be millions of them, but to have his fan base extend past his own immediate family is pretty mind-boggling. Girls actually recognize him when they spot him on the street, and that’s...well. It’s more than he can say of his secondary school days.

If they can’t write their own songs for their debut album, then so be it. There’s always the next album ( _if there’s even a next album,_ his traitorous brain screams).

The other lads aren’t taking the news as quietly.

“' _We’re going for a particular sound,’”_ Jaymi mocks, once they are safely secured inside of their label-issued town car. “That’s rubbish! We’re not some Disney-bred band aiming to please the little ones.”

Josh bites back on his response of _but our fan base is primarily under the age of fifteen_ and merely settles into his seat. Beside him, JJ is slouched against the window and silent as usual as he taps away at his phone, while George is over by Jaymi, flipping through the notebook that rests on his knees. Josh knows that if he leans across the car to peek, he’ll find page after page filled with George’s messy scribbles, thoughts and lyrics all scratched onto paper. Out of the four of them, there’s no doubt that George has to be the most disappointed; he’s been writing furiously for months, the true musician of the group, with his guitar and his lyrics and his raw talent.

It’s obvious that they wouldn’t be anywhere without George. Josh knows it, and Jaymi and JJ know it, too. Triple J hadn’t stood a shot, but with George, their chances had been multiplied by a thousand. It was common knowledge that George’s looks and voice were a large part of what helped them get through each week on the _X-Factor,_ just like it was common knowledge that their rather large numbers that first week were accompanied by bouts of _Josh looks sooo good with his haircut!_ But Josh had stopped feeling bitter within ten minutes after the first elimination show, when George threw himself onto Josh’s back and mumbled a frenzied _we did it, thank you, thank you so much, you lads have no idea how much this means to me, I’m so honored to be part of this group._

Now, he can’t imagine them without George. Triple J feels like a lifetime ago—it’s as though they’d been incomplete until the judges had stuck them with George, that cute, young kid from not-quite-Bristol. _Josh_ had felt almost incomplete, if he’s being honest. George has filled in all of the cracks, in the band, in his heart, in his life. He’s the cement that glues them together, glues Josh together, and whenever Josh wonders whether this is enough, he reminds himself that it’s enough for George, and the thought wipes away any of Josh’s misgivings.

“Josh, earth to Josh!” Jaymi leans across the car and taps him twice on the cheek, knocking Josh out of his reverie. Startled, Josh jerks his head to the side and glances reflexively towards George, whose eyebrows are raised in question as Jaymi asks, “You alive in there?”

“Hardly,” Josh mumbles. He sinks back into his seat and knocks purposefully into JJ with his shoulder as he does so, just to mess with the game of _Flappy Bird_ he has going. Sure enough, JJ shouts in indignation and careens to the left to get away from Josh.

“I was on my way to a new high score, you wanker!”

“Boo hoo,” Josh pulls a dramatic look and fakes scrubbing away his tears. He hears the signature giggle filter over from George, and the sound lodges into the corner of Josh’s chest, softening his frustrated restlessness somewhat.

“Sorry, mate,” he eventually adds, clapping JJ gently on the shoulder. JJ waves him off with a huff, and George giggles again, while Jaymi simply rolls his eyes.

“Children,” he states pointedly, but Josh is too busy making monkey faces at George to pay him much attention.

*

Their album drops, and it does alright, though not phenomenally. The coinciding tour is only eighteen dates, and it’s only in the United Kingdom and Ireland, but it’s still a tour. Josh is not disappointed—he isn’t. He gets to sing for an audience on eighteen different nights, next to his three best mates. It’s fantastic, great really.

But he hears about The Wanted playing all over North America, and One Direction’s preparations for a worldwide _stadium tour,_ and it’s, well, disheartening. Josh would like to believe that _one day, that will be us,_ but he knows it won’t be. Maybe they’ll get lucky and be asked to attend a Radio Disney event in America at some point, but other than that, the most he’ll get is a vacation in Los Angeles or a self-paid trip to New York City for touristic purposes. He’s still not bitter. He’s flattered, and thankful, and humbled, never bitter, not even when they’re in Dublin singing _Carry You_ for the umpteenth time (and all he can think is, _George’s songs would have been so much better_ ).

Occasionally, he catches glimpses of it in the other lads, too—when the label makes some comment about Jaymi getting papped with Olly, or about Princeton officially marking JJ as being “off the market”—because it’s all about them appealing to the girls, isn’t it? And they can’t do that if Jaymi is gay and JJ is a father. They’ll never become a huge success if they’re old and taken; girls want idols who are able to tell them, _of course I’d date a fan._

They all seem to realize it. Well, all of them except George, who hasn’t appeared to let anything phase him since all of his lyrics were shot down months ago. It’s like he’d fallen off the bicycle, only to pick himself up, dust himself off, and climb right back on again. Josh admires his attitude, wishes he could be as happy-go-lucky and non-questioning. Then he wouldn’t have to feel so...guilty all the time.

But as long as he can continuously tell himself that _George is happy,_ he’s pretty happy too. Seeing the stupid grin on George’s face and listening to the way his voice cracks whenever he’s excited about their next show or the photo shoot they have coming up, it makes all of this worth it. Josh should probably be alarmed that George’s happiness has such an influence over his own, but he already worries over so much as it is that this seems miniscule in comparison. Besides, George is good for the band, good for him, so who is he to question that?

If they’re doing one thing right to attract the fans, it’s this— _Gosh._ The (not so) epic bromance. With each twitcam and ridiculous vine or photo, it seems as though more and more girls are shrieking, _George and Josh are in love!!_ RCA doesn’t even seem the slightest bit worried about the comments—quite the contrary, in fact. It isn’t big publicity, but it’s some sort of attention, and so maybe Josh plays it up a little. Or a lot. It’s no matter; George does the exact same thing, and it’s not like it’s a _hardship,_ Josh constantly having to hang all over George. He takes a fair amount of pleasure from it, actually, being able to tickle George’s stomach in an interview or say something ridiculously cheesy about his face or his hair or some other part of his appearance, and George eats it right up. He smiles that stupid smile that sends Josh’s pulse skyrocketing and it’s all good, really. No big deal at all. He and George are best friends, and it’s just a bit of exaggeration. At least, that’s what Josh continues to tell himself.

*

RCA drops them.

Well, technically they aren’t “dropped,” because RCA functions under the giant umbrella that is Sony, and Epic is a part of Sony as well, but for Josh, it still _feels_ like they’ve been dropped. They weren’t good enough, they hadn’t been generating enough sales and fans and media attention, and so they’d been left behind by RCA for Epic to swing by and pick up the pieces.

Josh wants to be positive about the switch, he really does, especially when he realizes how excited the other three are. Jaymi keeps babbling about the ability to create _their own sound_ while George has been scratching lyrics away nonstop in his notebooks, and even JJ is smiling the majority of the time. Their enthusiasm should be infectious, but all Josh can think about is how much _smaller_ Epic is and how, if they hadn’t broken through overseas with RCA backing them, then they’re definitely never going to now.

He doesn’t dare say a word to the rest of the group, though. He would never intentionally bring them down when it seemed liked they were all riding so high, but the thoughts continue to eat away at him. With each day that passes following the end of the tour and the label change, Josh grows more and more weary. He’s anxious, too, the longer they go without a gig or something band-related to accomplish, and as the period of _nothing_ stretches on in front of them, it begins to resemble a gaping chasm that soon enough, Josh is sure they’ll never be able to cross.

He can’t squash the fear: _this is the end of Union J._

Unfortunately, George catches on fairly early into their “break.” Josh’s cynicism must somehow translate over snapchat, because all he’s sent George on this particular day is a shot of him sporting an incredibly sarcastic thumbs-up in response to a six-second video of George waving his notebook around in the air excitedly. Within seconds, his mobile is vibrating in his hands, and Josh purses his lips for a moment in order to steel himself before answering.

“What’s wrong?” George demands immediately.

It’s a bit scary how well they know each other, if George’s apparent sixth sense is anything to go by. He’s always been able to see straight through Josh’s façade, but still, Josh sighs into the receiver and mutters, “nothing.”

“Don’t be a knob. Tell me what’s going on. You don’t miss me already, do you?”

And the irony of it all, Josh realizes, is that he does miss George. Something fierce, in fact, but that yearning seems to pale in comparison to the thoughts that have been plaguing him for weeks now, constantly reminding him that _they weren’t good enough_ and, more specifically, _he’ll **never** be good enough._

“Just me going through a bit of an emo phase, don’t worry about it. I’ve got to make up for the fact that I never had one in year eight, right?” Josh jokes weakly.

“Josh.” George suddenly sounds... _sad,_ and that just won’t do. That won’t do one bit. “What’s happened?”

His soft, pleading tone is like a swift kick to the stomach, and Josh has to close his eyes for a long moment. He can’t keep pretending that everything is right and good when George does this, gets all genuine and concerned over Josh’s feelings. Not only is it unfair to George, but it’s like there’s this switch in Josh’s brain that always flicks on and orders him to _never hurt George._ It’s automatic. Whenever there’s the slightest chance that George’s happiness might be at stake, Josh’s reflexes kick in and he does his best to protect that stupid grin that he’s come to love so much. Even now, when the truth might just wipe away that smile for a few brief seconds, Josh worries that lying to George would only be worse.

But instead of a confession of his fears, what comes out is, “are you happy, George?”

There is a long pause, and suddenly, Josh is dreading the answer. That is until George’s voice filters down the line, warm and genuine and a bit perplexed. “Of course I’m happy. I’m probably the happiest I’ve ever been.”

As he hears the words, Josh abruptly remembers George, back during their first week together as Union J, when they’d all been huddled onto a queen-size bed. George’s knees were tucked into his chest, his eyes big and sad and _dull_ as he recounted his days at school, when he’d been the quiet and heavy _Porgey Georgey._ Josh couldn’t imagine anyone intentionally wanting to hurt George back then, and he certainly still can’t now. The thought had been enough to spark the urge to wrap George up in his arms and never let go, protect him from all of the cruel people in the world. But George was brave, and so, so strong, and after he’d shared the story with the three of them, that had been it. It had seemed like a permanent purging of George’s past, leaving room for only George Shelley of Union J. Josh _knows_ how proud George is of the person he’s become; and he knows how grateful George is that the past is behind him. That there’s only Union J, now and in the future. Any days of George being unhappy are long, long gone.

And that does it for Josh.

“I’m glad,” he tells George. “You don’t deserve any less.”

“Neither do you,” George answers immediately. “You know that, don’t you?”

Josh does know. He’s just having a bit of a difficult time accepting it.

*

When they exit the luggage area into the bustling arrivals section of LAX, a group of young girls is on top of them within seconds.

Fans. An admittedly small group of them, but still. Girls who recognize them. In _Los Angeles._

Josh can’t keep the grin off of his face.

They’re in America to record for the second album ( _second album!_ his mind yells, and if possible, Josh smiles even wider at the thought). It’s Josh’s first time in Los Angeles, and he already loves it, the heat prickling against his skin and the aura of _anythingcanhappen_ that envelops him as soon as he steps off the plane. And now this. They spend a solid half hour signing autographs and taking pictures, chatting with the cluster of American girls that are bright-eyed and excited to see them. _I can’t believe you’re actually in the States!_ one of them tells him excitedly, and he laughs and responds, _neither can I._ A couple of people around them shoot confused looks in their direction, as if to say, _are these guys even famous? What’s the big deal?_ but Josh ignores them. For thirty minutes, in a foreign country, they _are_ a big deal, and he can’t quite wrap his head around it.

At one point, he feels a soft squeeze around his wrist, and he turns from the fan he’s currently conversing with to find George beaming at him. He’s got one hand on the shoulder of the girl beside him, but he’s looking straight at Josh, his eyes shining and cheeks flushed and hair a mess from a nine hour flight. The look that passes between them screams _can you believe this?!_ and suddenly, Josh is throwing his head back and laughing, feeling lighter than he has in months.

People really know who they are. _Union J._

*

The new album is going to be massive. Josh feels it in his gut, an unyielding swell bubbling anxiously in his stomach. They’ve got an all-new sound, a bit softer with more instruments and less synthesizer, and the lyrics—they’ve recorded over thirty songs, half of them being pieces that George had written and another quarter being penned by all of them together. It truly is their music. Josh is proud in a way that trumps even the way he’d felt when “Carry You” had debuted at number six on the charts. Even if the album is only going to be available in the UK to start, Josh has a good feeling that this will be the one to take them overseas, to announce their presence to the whole world. For once, he’s...optimistic.

And Los Angeles is still _incredible._ They’ve had staff tagging along to document the whole trip, and Josh loves having cameras around to fool around in front of. It gives them all an excuse to act like children (though they do much of that as it is). They go to their first baseball game, and even with Jaymi complaining the entire time about how “utterly dull” it is, Josh still has a swell time. George manages to get his hands on one of the cameras and makes a scene out of Josh trying to eat a _Dodger dog,_ and they all purchase stupid kits for players they don’t even know the full names of, because why not? JJ decides to mock the group of American men sitting two rows in front of them, yelling whenever they yell and dramatically jumping up to wave his hands around when they begin shouting about an umpire’s bad call. They don’t pay attention to the game that much (it really is quite dull; at least it’s better than cricket, Josh reasons) but they don’t need to. It’s all good and fun.

Today is their final day in America, and now that they’ve finished recording, they’ve decided to trek on down to the beach. It is, quite possibly, the most eclectic scene Josh has ever witnessed. There are tourists with fanny packs and skaters with lip piercings and locals in bathing suits and oversized sunglasses, and the four of them spend a fair share of their time just people watching, making up backstories when a particularly eccentric looking stranger passes by.

“That one,” Jaymi points to a younger boy who can’t be more than sixteen, dressed in striped board shorts and a white tank top. His hair is a dirty blonde that catches the sun as he sits on a low wall nearby, kicking his legs in-and-out to the tune of whatever must be playing through his headphones.

JJ wastes no time and, after taking a sip from the milkshake that’s clutched in his sweaty hand, says, “closeted One Direction fan. Probably owns a skateboard he doesn’t know how to ride. Tells his mum he’s going to EDM raves when he’s actually here, trying to listen to his pop music in peace.”

All four of them immediately crack up, and Josh grabs onto George’s shoulder to steady himself as Jaymi adds, “seems like the Liam type to me, don’t you think, lads?”

“Well, if he were the Harry type, he’d already be over here to scold George for looking alike,” JJ points out, and George lets out a huff.

“We look nothing alike anymore!” he argues, and Jaymi just pats his head condescendingly while Josh smothers another laugh into the side of George’s neck. He can do this, now; he can joke about their similarities to One Direction and not feel bitter about how, fame-wise, they’re really not similar to One Direction at all. It’s been a long road, but their time in LA has been perfect for clearing his head, making him realize that although they may not have _everything,_ they do have something, and that something is pretty incredible. No matter what happens, they’ll still be Union J, and there will always be someone out there who appreciates them and the music they make.

It’s enough for JJ and Jaymi. It’s enough for _George_. And it’s finally enough for Josh, too.

“It’s actually nice that we can walk around here and not be noticed,” JJ intones after awhile, once their laughter has died down and they’ve resumed their stroll down the boardwalk. Josh has his hands shoved into his pockets, sunglasses pulled down over his eyes while his shoulder brushes against George’s every few seconds as they walk. “Like—imagine if George really _were_ Harry Styles. We’d be mobbed.”

Josh takes a moment to think about it— _really_ think about, not just moan away in his head—and, in a second of startling clarity, he realizes that JJ is right. Would it be nice to have worldwide fame, the kind that brought number one records and stadium tours? Of course. But throughout all of his whining, Josh hadn’t spared a minute to recognize the sacrifices that would come with something like that. Girls camped out in front of their houses, being trailed by fans wherever they went—it sounds...bothersome. Never a moment of peace with his family and friends. The constant hounding of the paps, the rumours in the magazines. Would it be worth it? Josh doesn’t know. To a certain extent, he’d like to think it would.

But overall, he wouldn’t want to trade what he has right now for anything in the world.

“We’re right good where we are, boys,” he says firmly. Jaymi snorts a bit, and JJ shoots him a weird look, but Josh simply ignores them and throws his arm around George’s shoulder so that he can tuck him into his side. “And besides, George is much better looking than Harry Styles, anyway.”

George immediately giggles into his shirt in response, and it sends a flood of contentedness tingling straight down to Josh’s toes.

*

A few weeks later and 5 Seconds of Summer have a worldwide album release coming up, while The Vamps have an EP about to break through in the US.  Josh finds that the news doesn’t even bother him. A date has been set for the premiere of their new single, and they’ve got a spot to perform at the Capital FM Summertime Ball. It feels like they’re on top of the world.

It was like their time in America had flipped a switch somewhere inside of him, and Josh has done a complete 180 from _bitter-and-jealous_ to   _pleased-and-content._ He feels invincible.

Of course, George notices. He always notices.

It’s the day before their single is due to premiere on Capital FM, and Josh is bouncing off the walls. He’s already promised a tweet spree on twitter later in the evening, as he’s feeling decidedly generous (and _grateful_ ) and he doesn’t really know what to do with himself until then. He’s just _excited._ Their music is going to be back on the radio and they’re going to be performing again and it’s all just so surreal, so amazing. He continues to tell George as much, babbling away as they kick a football back and forth in a park down the street from Josh’s flat.

“You’re happy,” George remarks somewhat teasingly, interrupting whatever string of nonsense Josh has been uttering. He dribbles the football around for a moment before passing it back to Josh, who stops it beneath his foot to shoot George a sarcastic look. It probably screams, _really, you think so?_

“Oi, I didn’t ask for your sass,” George laughs, batting away the football when Josh kicks it pointedly at his stomach. “It was just an observation. I suppose your ‘emo phase’ is over, isn’t that what you were calling it?”

Josh wrinkles his nose and ducks his head a bit sheepishly. He had been quite a pain in the arse for awhile there, and he hates that it had been noticeable enough for George to bring it up now. “Er, right. I was a bit of a downer, wasn’t I?”

George shrugs before gently nudging the football back over. “I reckon you were. But it was nothing in comparison to Jaymi’s mood swings, so no need to fret about it.”

A laugh bubbles its way out of Josh’s throat, and he juggles the football up onto his knees, assuming the topic of conversation’s been dropped. Until George adds, “you never really told me what was wrong, y’know.”

The football pops off of Josh’s left knee and drops down into the grass as he jerks his head towards George in surprise. George is staring straight at him, his eyebrows raised in question, and suddenly, Josh can’t look away. George has deserved answers for awhile, now, but Josh has repeatedly chosen to beat around the bush instead of confess. Avoidance is always the easier option. However, the genuine concern that’s taken over George’s features isn’t something that Josh can just neglect this time around.

He blows out a long breath and, after kicking the football off a ways to the side, plops down in the grass on his bottom. George ambles over and follows suit, crossing his legs once he’s seated across from Josh. His fingers pick absently at the blades of grass between his legs, and Josh watches the movement of his hands for a beat before starting to speak.

“D’you ever wonder, like...” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “Like, if this all we’ll ever have? As Union J, I mean.”

On the word _this,_ Josh waves his arms around in a vague gesture, the skin between his eyebrows furrowing slightly. George glances over at him with pursed lips, his head tipped in thought, and then responds, “you mean how...famous we are, or summat?”

“...yes. Yes, exactly,” Josh confirms. He scratches at a phantom itch on the inside of his elbow, just to distract himself from the self-consciousness that’s begun to creep up on him. “I’ve always sort of...wondered. I constantly have to remind myself that this _is_ incredible, that I shouldn’t want anything more, because...what we have is so brilliant, yeah?”

He reaches up and runs both hands through his hair, an act of minor frustration. “Like—we’re so lucky. I _know_ we are, and I’m so thankful, but sometimes I can’t help it if I wish we were...touring stadiums like One Direction, or releasing songs in America, or...or anything like that. And then I feel guilty, and it’s one massive, vicious cycle, basically.”

George is watching him closely—a bit too closely—and it causes Josh to fidget nervously. He gazes down at his lap and waits for George to say something.

“So...what changed?” George asks finally.

Of all the things that Josh had been expecting George to say, that certainly hadn’t been one of them. He looks up again, and the pure _understanding_ that’s flooded George’s expression spurs him to answer with nothing but complete honesty.

“I just realized that...if this was enough to make _you_ happy, then it could be enough for me, too,” Josh answers.

George blinks over at him, a tad confused, but then realization crosses over his features and he’s brightening, brightening, his lips tilting upwards and his face splitting open into a twinkling grin. He giggles a bit, almost breathlessly, and says, “you tosser. _You_ make me happy. All of this fame business—it wouldn’t mean anything if it wasn’t _you_ I was sharing it with.”

And, “oh,” Josh replies, a bit dumbly. George laughs once more before he reaches out, his palm falling to Josh’s knee to give it a warm, reassuring squeeze.

“I’d kiss you right now, but I’d rather that not show up in the _Mirror_ tomorrow,” he admits, and Josh casually sets his hand atop George’s, curling their fingers together for the briefest of moments. He’s smiling now, too, can’t seem to stop the way his cheeks flush and his chest fills with this hot, pleasant, melty sensation that leaves him slightly winded and a lot content.

“They’re probably going to publish some rubbish about the single anyway. Might as well go out with a bang,” Josh adds.

George just beams and taps out a rhythm against the inside of Josh’s wrist, mumbling the words _as long as we’re together, it’s all good_ beneath his breath.


End file.
